


Nothing Compares to You

by LonelySparrow



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, always a girl zayn, felt like writing girl zayn, girl zayno, girl!Zayn, i've been watching BSE video too much or something haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:36:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelySparrow/pseuds/LonelySparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn's a girl with a lot of little things and Niall's so in love with her. Schmoop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Compares to You

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't show this to anyone in the band/management/etc. This is purely for my entertainment and maybe yours.

It’s the little things that Niall loves about her. 

Everyone notices her prominent cheekbones or elongated eyelashes. Everyone takes in the tiny curve of her waist, her midnight black hair, or her creamy caramel skin. But her devastating beauty is just one part of her. There’s so much more to her; special things that only Niall gets to see.

It’s the way she knees up onto the countertops of a morning to reach for a mug for tea. A sliver of the delicate, peanut buttery skin of her stomach will peak out from beneath one of his t-shirts. The kind of t-shirt that she nicks from the bedroom floor of a morning and that sags off her shoulders, revealing delicate strawberry freckles smattered there.

It’s something about the way she lights a cigarette after tea and just before bed. She taps the cigarette out of the box and cups her delicate, long paint-stained fingers around the flame as she lights it, and it’s something in the way she wraps her lipstick lips around it and takes a pull. 

It’s the way she takes her university notes. She writes in orange ink only, and is always doodling in the margins. She always wears a pair of green Dr. Dre’s. She bought them after one of her sculptures sold in the student auction. Niall asked her why she bought green ones. She smiled that tiny smile of hers, the one just for Niall, and said they reminded her of him and Ireland.

It’s the way she comes home with clay smeared across her forehead and splinters in her fingers after a day in the studio. Niall always takes her to the bathroom, lifts her up and settles her on the sink and pulls the tweezers down from the cupboard. She’ll look at him from beneath her lashes as he pulls the splinter out and he always places a kiss where the splinter was before kissing her forehead and cheeks.

It’s the way her hair sticks up because she’s constantly running her fingers through it when she’s stressing over notes or worrying about a paper for one of her creative writing courses. She sits at the desk in the corner of the flat’s living area every night and writes until two in the morning when Niall comes home from his shift at the pub. She’ll fall asleep with her face on the keyboard and he’ll walk in the doorway with this fond look in his eyes.

He’ll prod her shoulder a few times, place kisses to her eyelids and run his fingers beneath her t-shirt before pulling her out of the chair and carrying her to their bed. He’ll settle her down on the sheets and she’ll curl into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And for the two of them, it very much is.

She’ll wake him in the morning with waffles and kisses and they’ll get distracted with shower sex and their tea will have gone cold. He walks around the flat in nothing but his pants, and she’ll admire the scratches she’s left across his shoulder blades with her blunt, black paint-chipped nails.

It’s something about the way she reads to him. She thinks what she’s written is horrific and atrocious and she’ll straddle his lap on the couch and read to him telling him how awful it is. But she knows the prettiest words and the most beautiful phrases that turn his stomach upside down and has his heart melting in a puddle on the floor. He’ll prove her wrong with kisses and touches and nudges with his nose until she believes him because he’s so very right about her being brilliant and talented and she’s so very self-conscious when she doesn’t need to be.

He goes to her poetry readings at the campus coffee house on Friday nights instead of going out with the boys. He’ll listen to her voice go soft and low and sad as she reads John Keats and Lord Byron and Emily Dickinson. Watch the way she fiddles with the necklace he bought her two Christmases ago and that she never takes off. She’ll slide the pendant, a little turtle with turquoise gems for a shell, back and forth along the chain when she’s nervous. She loves turtles and the sea, but is scared to death of the water. 

He likes the way she wears Vans and Converse with beanies. He likes it when she steals his snapbacks on a bad hair day, even though he complains and tells her it annoys him. He doesn’t really mind at all.

He likes the way she has a few tattoos, but keeps them covered because they’re deeply personal and she’s shy. He likes the way that he knows the meaning behind every one of them because he’s special to her. Special in the way that she knows how many kids she wants to have with him and that she’s staying the entire summer at his Dad’s place in Ireland to meet his family and hang out with his friends.

He likes the way she bites into his shoulders when they get rough together. He likes the way she doesn’t smile very often when a lot of people are around, but as soon as he’s in the room she almost cracks her face in half. 

He likes the way she always wants hugs and cuddles, but won’t initiate the first touch because she’s so vulnerable and nervous. He likes it when she reads his papers for class and tells him he’s so smart even when she’s drawn red lines all throughout the paper and he has to basically rewrite the whole thing.

He likes the way she likes to be outside, even when it’s so cold his bollocks will freeze off. He likes the way she plays with puppies and rescues kittens but is afraid of taking care of one because she gets forgetful and is the studio for long hours.

He likes the way she’s so quiet sometimes, but when a subject is broached that she’s passionate about she gets so vocal and loud. He likes the way she always wears neon colored socks and highlights blonde streaks and blue streaks and sometimes pink streaks in her hair.

He likes that she’s quietly protective. She doesn’t get jealous very often, but if she thinks a girl is flirting too far she places kisses to his jaw and juts her chin out a lot. She shows up at every one of his performances, even if he doesn’t mention it to her because he knows she’s busy that day or something. She’ll sit at the bar and stare up at him like she might never see him again, like he’s the greatest thing to ever be on earth and he shakes his head because she’s got it all backwards.

There’s just something about her. These little things that fold themselves up like secret notes in school and tuck themselves into the pockets of his blue jeans and fill his heart with so much fondness that he’s going to explode from it. Everything about her sets him aflame. She’s his beginning, his middle, his forever. There’s no end.

He loves the way she trips him up on the sidewalk, sends him stumbling on the path, and falling in love with her over and over again, day after day.

Perhaps the thing he loves most about her though, is the way she breathes out a soft yes and blinks back tears when he gets down on one knee and asks her, beautiful, funny, shy Zayn Malik to adventure into forever with him.


End file.
